


Guide Fails Sentinel, Sentinel Fails Guide

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 07:52:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/795688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a COMPANION PIECE to C. W. Post's, "The Guide by Jim Ellison". You MUST read that before you read this in order for this to make sense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guide Fails Sentinel, Sentinel Fails Guide

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks a MILLION to C.W. Post for permission to play in her universe, and add my own dark little twist to her brilliant story. It's just what the muse called for...THIS week, due to losing my OTHER passion, the X-Files. 

## Guide Fails Sentinel, Sentinel Fails Guide

by Jvantheterrible

Author's website:  <http://www.angelfire.com/oh3/SkinnerSanctum/index6.html>

Characters not mine. Petfly abandoned them WAY before now. This is my muse acting out against the end of my first love, the X-Files. My Sk/M muse is still resting, but Jim and Blair live on.

Thank you EXPRESSLY to C. W. Post for permission to use part of her brilliant story and play with it to my dark muse's heart's content. 

What if Simon DIDN'T intervene?

This story is a sequel to: The Guide by Jim Ellison 

* * *

**GUIDE FAILS SENTINEL, SENTINEL FAILS GUIDE**

Date: May 20th - 21st, 2002  
Author: Jvantheterrible  
Companion Piece To (and approved by) C.W. Post's story: 'The Guide by Jim Ellison' Summary: What if Simon hadn't intervened in the 'Big Picture'? From Jim, Blair, and Simon's POV's, respectively. Warning: Death story. My very first...and most likely ONLY. Ever. No, really, I promise. I couldn't help but wonder what might have happened if... 

**XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO**

852 PROSPECT (Jim) 

Two weeks ago, Simon forced me to take an extended leave. That didn't bother me. Nothing matters anymore. I wander around the loft, feeling Blair's presence and the cold emptiness of his absence everywhere I turn. The television hasn't been turned on since he left. I have no idea what's going on in the outside world, and I don't care. 

Instead, I concentrate on what I've done. I worry about Blair and wonder where he is. I think I could handle this better if I only knew he was all right. He's called a couple of times, but I didn't ask his location, knowing if he wanted me to know, he'd tell me. He didn't offer any information. Our conversations were brief and stilted, to say the least. I had the feeling his calls were perfunctory. Token calls that allowed the Guide in him to check on his Sentinel; to merely touch base. I never told him my senses were gone. That was the last thing he needed to hear. He didn't sound like himself, so I know he's not found the inner peace he was seeking. 

What if he's sick? Even in the best of times, Sandburg never took care of himself. He pushed himself too hard - forgetting to eat and getting by on very little sleep at times. I know he has no money and is probably living out of his car. There's nobody to take care of him. 

Or, what if he's hurt? Would he seek medical attention? Would someone help him? Then the absurdity of those thoughts sinks in. Who was supposed to take care of him here? Me. And just look at what a lousy job I've done of that... 

My hand inches ever closer to the gun that is resting by my side on the sofa. I stare into the flames that are dying in the fireplace, and I can't help thinking how symbolic that is of our relationship. I'm the fire and Blair's the wood. I've taken everything he had to offer, and now all that's left is a pile of ash and dying embers. I can't go on without him; I'd suspected that all along, but now there's no doubt. I feel myself fading away. 

Partly, it's because of the bond we share as Sentinel and Guide; I know that. But mostly, I'm certain it's due to our friendship...the love I feel for the man that is Blair Sandburg. I'm growing weaker and weaker, my ties to this world are loosening and it won't be long before the tethers let go and I'm drifting - alone and unaware. 

The heavy, cold metal is in my hand, the muzzle of the pistol resting lightly against my lips. My finger has wrapped itself comfortably around the trigger, and my gaze drifts down to where my ticket to oblivion now rests - beckoning; it's the only way out. I can end my suffering in one fleeting microsecond. I'm ready to administer the punishment that fits my crime. I've taken Blair's life, and now it's time to take mine. Slowly, methodically, I lift the gun. 

I close my eyes as I open my lips. I tremble as I part the flesh of my mouth to allow the cold steel invader inside, tears forming in my eyes as I do what seemed unthinkable mere weeks ago. I know that I cannot survive without my Guide, and since my senses have left me, along with Blair, I realize that this is my only recourse. There is simply no turning back now; he'll never know that I loved him beyond my own life. He'll never understand that I would give anything - no, EVERYthing - to get him back by my side. 

I have no idea if he'll ever return, and I am in no position to allow myself to believe that he'd ever forgive me for betraying his trust and faith all those weeks ago. It is easier for me to accept my demise by my own hand rather than try to explain myself out of the shitty things I said, crushing whatever trust and hope and faith (and love?) he ever had in and for me before the dissertation fiasco. He proclaimed himself a fraud. He gave up everything that he'd dreamt of from the time he was 16 years old in order to protect...what? Protect ME? Like I'm WORTHY of that kind of devotion? HA! God, Blair, what I'd give to show you - prove to you - that I'm not worthy of you, nor any other kind soul that might try to intercede on my existence. But most certainly, God...ever SO certainly, not worthy of your devotion, my darling Blair... 

I allow myself the customary selfish tears and a slight moan before I lay my head back against the sofa cushion, close my eyes and pull firmly on the trigger. As everything goes dark, there is a bright white light...I can hear Sandburg calling to me, and it allows me to leave my body - and the rest of this universe - behind with some modicum of peace; my love's phantom voice the final thing my now-failed Sentinel ears hear. 

**XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO**

**TEN MINUTES LATER**  
852 PROSPECT (Blair) 

I can't believe that I've stayed away as long as I have, nor that it took me as long as it did to figure out where I really, truly belong. Where my home is...here, in the loft, with my Sentinel, best friend, and partner. I'm sure he heard me calling his name as I bounced in the elevator, waiting impatiently for the slow-moving thing to deliver me to the third floor and, ultimately, to what I hoped would be my future. 

I fit my key in the lock and swing the heavy metal door open, surprised to find Jim home at this time of day. I'd called Simon the moment I got back to Cascade, and he informed me that Jim was on leave, but it was still a shock to see the blue and white Ford parked in its spot in the middle of the day. I set my backpack and two suitcases down on the floor and quietly shut the door; he must be exhausted, because he's crashed out on the sofa in the middle of the afternoon...I wonder how long it will take me to make all of this up to him. I wonder how he's possibly sleeping through my 'big entrance'? 

I smile and shake my head as I kick off my shoes and tiptoe into my room with my bags, plopping them down on the futon that I haven't slept in for many weeks now. I'm not surprised to find the covers rumpled; leave it to my Sentinel to want to soak up my scent when needing the real thing. Guilt rushes over me once more at having left Jim behind while I went out in search of myself...or whatEVER it was that I thought I was missing. I've since realized that the only thing I need in my life is resting comfortably out on the couch, completely oblivious to the fact that I'm home. I've come back for him - no, TO him - and I can't wait to see those gorgeous indigo eyes fluttering open in shocked surprise when he finally wakes up and realizes that I'm back. And how very much I missed him. And how very much I love him. It's the first thing I'm going to tell him when he wakes up... 

**XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO**

Okay, it's been half an hour, I'm mostly unpacked, and Jim's still out. That's so fucking weird, because I'm sure he would register my heartbeat at the very LEAST...or my scent, or SOMEthing. But, if he's had as hard a time of things as Simon told me this morning, well, I guess it's to be expected. I think I'll go out and cook something up for dinner. 

I leave my empty bags on my bed and head out into the kitchen, still tip-toeing so Jim can get his rest. I open the fridge to see what I can rustle up, and - shit! - there's NOTHING in there, man! I guess the big guy hasn't been eating, either. Poor Sentinel, left alone with no one to take care of him all this time...well, Ellison, that's all over and done with. I'm home now, and your Guide is ready and willing to take care of you - in EVERY sense of the word. I grin a little at my own thought and then shuffle quietly into the living room to watch him. I've missed him so much, it'll do me good to check him out in repose for a while. It's not often that Jim Ellison, Sentinel of the Great City, gets caught sleeping on the job. Well you're busted now, man, I think to myself happily as I round the end of the sofa. And freeze where I'm standing. 

I'm not sure if my own screams brought me out of my stupor, or if it was the police breaking down the front door to see what in the fuck was going on in here. I was still in shock, trembling and hysterical to boot when Simon Banks himself slapped my face some ten minutes later to try and snap me out of it. He was crying as he yelled at me hoarsely, "Sandburg, goddammit, come on kid. Come on back," Simon said, using the same words I'd used on Jim for so many years to bring him out of a Zone. 

I look at Simon like I have no fucking clue who he is, and immediately my gaze drops back down to the scene on the couch. James Joseph Ellison, my Sentinel, my piece' d' resistance, my rock, my fucking best friend in the entire fucking world lay on our couch, gun still resting in his right hand, which now sat lifelessly in his lap, still clutching his service revolver. The same weapon he'd used to bring down countless perps and ne'er do wells, used to take his own life. His beautiful, gifted, loving, brave, brilliant, strong fucking life - gone, by his own fucking hand. Oh God, no. NO! It was then that I began to cry out, my voice nearly hoarse already from screaming for only God knew how long before assistance got here. 

"Jim no, no, NO," I cried, tears running in rivers down my cheeks as Simon tried - and failed - to hold me back from reaching my partner's now eternally lifeless body and holding it within my firm embrace. I threw myself down on the couch, ignoring the gore that had soaked into the pillows - and the blood that smeared on the front of my shirt - as I held Jim in my arms. I rocked his lifeless body back and forth, begging Incacha and every other soul that I could think of to please, PLEASE not let this be happening. 

"Oh Goddammit, Jim, no, man, you can't fucking do this to me...to us," I sobbed into the top of his head. The back of his skull had been blown out when he'd pulled the trigger, and although that vision would normally have me bent over a trash can in seconds, this was my partner! This was the man that I'd given up my fucking LIFE for, and now...now...oh God, this is how he's repaid me. In fucking spades, man. I gave up my life for him, and he's done the same thing...but Jesus Christ, I was HERE! Didn't he hear me coming? Didn't he know the moment I got off that fucking plane and headed back here like a moth to a flame? 

"Jimmmm," I sobbed, inconsolable to the point of insanity, "Ohhhh, noooooo, God, I love you, Jim, come on man, come ON..." my voice trailed off and left me completely as I held him in my arms and rocked him. I realized that my language had become purely Chopec, and that no one else around us watching this display had any clue what was going on...all they could do - all the people that had been called in with the 9-1-1 alert, Simon included - was stand and watch and grieve. 

Every person in the loft at that moment knew how close Jim and I were. Every single person, man and woman alike, had known about our special relationship in one way or another. If for no other reason than our propensity to end up in the Goddamn emergency room at least once a month, they all knew that we were inseparable. Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg were a team - in every sense of the word. Except for one; the very one that we knew people talked about behind our backs, and in hushed corners when they thought no one was listening. They all thought we were lovers...and now that I was home, I had every intention of making that true as well. But now...now...oh God, Jim, how could you? 

"Sandburg," Simon murmured at me as he motioned for the officers to hold me down while they allowed the paramedics to remove Jim from my arms, "Blair, I'm so sorry, kid. I'm so fucking sorry," he whispered as he himself clutched me in his arms, pulling me from the sofa while the white-coated workers strapped Jim's lifeless body to a stretcher and wheeled him out of the loft. I turned around in his embrace, my face buried in his coat in shame and defeat as I collapsed against him, letting my world go black and unfeeling - just like my Sentinel's had, all those weeks ago. 

**XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO**

**852 PROSPECT**  
THREE WEEKS LATER (Blair) 

I didn't even go to the fucking funeral. I couldn't bring myself to do it, knowing damn well that it was my fault that it was even happening. I said my goodbyes to Jim that afternoon I came home and found him, holding him in my arms even as the last bits of his brain bled out across my flannel-clad shoulder. I have adopted Jim's attitude, now that he's gone; it's my homage to his final days, not eating or sleeping or thinking about very much of anything, save for the loss of him - as I'm certain he mourned me weeks ago. 

When I do have any thoughts at all anymore, they are of what he must have felt when he had no idea where I was or what I was doing. Or when on earth I might be home, if ever. Simon comes over every day, trying to coax me into eating, or talking, or sharing anything at all - he's frustrated beyond words, I'm sure. I haven't spoken a single word since that day three weeks ago, and I have no intention of talking to anyone. Not even my mother, who has called and left countless messages on the machine, begging me to pick up the phone to at least tell her goodbye. It's funny, because it's as if she knows that I'm finished now. My life is over, as it was that day, right along with Jim's. Just like everything else we've done in our time together over the years, this too is the culmination of all our joint ventures. 

I haven't slept at all that I'm aware of; I'm sure I've drifted off from time to time, but for the most part, I sit here on the sofa where my beloved other half took his life and wait for the same fate to befall me. I can't bring myself to commit willing suicide like Jim did; shit, Simon took the gun back, and I don't have the stomach for slitting my wrists or anything like that. But I do have the resolve that it takes to meditate myself through the spells of intense hunger. And the pains that I feel in my body as it slowly shuts down...day by day, night after night, restless for this process to be finished so I can see my Sentinel again. I haven't showered, haven't shaven, haven't even gone to the bathroom. Hell, when you don't eat or drink anything, there's practically no need to do that anyway. 

Simon tries to coax me to at least drink a little water this afternoon; I shake my head at him, unmoving and still blankly staring at the TV screen as I have every day since they carried my love away. Banks begins to cry yet again, because he knows that my time here is very limited, and the only comfort I can offer him is to meet his eyes one final time. I let my ocean blue eyes see, once more, deep into his chocolate brown orbs so I can let him know, silently, that this is right. It's what I must do. It's what I am destined to do, ever since Incacha left me to watch over the Sentinel. I failed Jim. I failed him in so many ways, despite his insistence otherwise. I can only hope that with this, my final sacrifice, that I will end up in the same spirit plane as Jim, so we can be together again in some way, shape, or form. I'll take it, whatever it is, so long as I don't have to go on without him. 

**XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO**

**CASCADE HEART OF THE ANGELS CEMETERY**  
ONE WEEK LATER (Simon) 

We buried Sandburg today - right next to Ellison, just as their wills instructed. I can't stand to watch Naomi sobbing, cursing Jim as she bade goodbye to her 'darling boy'. She must have no clue as to how they felt about one another, despite Blair's actions once she'd leaked his diss to that son of a whore publisher. I wonder now, as I look mournfully down on yet another coffin, if Naomi Sandburg had never pressed that godforsaken 'Send' button on Blair's laptop - could all of this have been averted? Would I still have my star team with me, alive and well, joking and slapping one another on the back - albeit a bit more frequently than the other teams - if Naomi had never intervened? 

It's a moot point, I think to myself as I take a deep sigh and watch disjointedly as a hand that doesn't even feel like my own drops the first scoop of fresh earth down over Blair Jacob Sandburg's coffin. Just as I did to James Joseph Ellison's nearly a month ago, dismayed that his own father - and even his brother - scoffed at the duty due to their blood's taking his own life. 

I stumble a bit as I make my way back to the black stretch limo, silently grateful when Megan Conner catches my elbow and rights me once more. She escorts me back to the car we share with the rest of the team that also shared my heartfelt love for the two men left behind; Rafe, H, Brown, Rhonda, and a very tearful Taggert complete the miserable ensemble that's remaining of Cascade's Major Crimes division. I feel like an old man; an old, tired, graying man that is no longer of any use in this world as I take my seat among my remaining team, hoping and praying that they don't feel the defeat pouring off of me at this moment. The limo pulls away from the cemetery slowly, and I share my fresh tears with those of my detectives, feeling the loss moreso now than I did a month ago. I wonder if we'll be able to survive this loss...wonder if things will ever be normal again...and wonder if they ever were? 

**XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO**

**JUNGLES OF PERU**  
 **LOST TEMPLE OF THE SENTINELS**  
 **MORNING OF BLAIR'S FUNERAL**

A large black jaguar has paced impatiently back and forth for several weeks. Incacha watches with more than avid interest - from afar - as the great cat roars every so often, refusing to leave its self-imposed post, instead choosing to pace its tracks over and over, seemingly awaiting some arrival. 

As the Great and Powerful Shaman watches, a malnourished wolf with intense blue eyes approaches from within the flora of the jungle. The massively muscular black cat growls and hisses for several moments, before stopping in its tracks and scenting the surrounding air; apparently, this beast is welcome. 

The great black cat begins to roar, even as the skinny white wolf with lapis azul eyes lowers its head and howls in seemingly mournful response. Incacha shuts his eyes and smiles as he backs up and allows the jungle to swallow him entirely in its mass of unforgiving palms, making sure that he is unseen by both of the animals in front of him. The face painted in red, with an hourglass to match that of the Black Widow across its broad nose, melts into a smile as the animals growl in tandem and circle one another for several moments before determining that neither is a threat to the other. 

Incacha allows a second more's rumination more before heading back to his tribe, certain that despite all that has befallen his children in their previous life, they will once more be born and rule the Great City together. Whether the city is Cascade or another that might embrace the light and the love of Sentinel and Guide, it matters not...merely that Sentinel and Guide do so together...in this life, the next, and many more to come. 

**XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO**

THE END. I'm sorry to be so dark, but hey...at least it ended positively, right? RIGHT? My muse sucks sometimes, folks. Thanks for reading! 

* * *

End Guide Fails Sentinel, Sentinel Fails Guide by Jvantheterrible: duranjaxter@comcast.net

Author and story notes above.

  
Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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